Devilry
by The Sugarfaerie
Summary: In the Moulin Rouge, money is not the root of all evil. Second in my trilogy after Armoury. Narrated by Schoolgirl. Dark.


I got the inspiration for this one-shot almost directly after writing "Armoury", so that is why it's a companion piece, once again focusing on the dark side of the Moulin Rouge. It's not necessary to have read "Armoury" before "Devilry", but it will make things a bit clearer (since they're supposed to be read in that order)I'm thinking of writing a third piece and making it a nice little trilogy.

Schoolgirl's narrating this time. A character that appeared or was mentioned in the previous piece will narrate each piece. I'll probably use Juno next.

Disclaimer: And yet again, I don't own Moulin Rouge. The song featured in this piece is _La Vie En Rose_ by Edith Piaf, which doesn't belong to me either.

Devilry 

_What is this new devilry?_

_JRR Tolkien, "The Lord of the Rings: The Fellowship of the Ring"_

The Bohemians have a saying that they tend to often say to the faces of their concierges when they come to collect the rent: money is the root of all evil. We have our own variation down here at the Rouge, curtesy of Travesty: money is the root of all greed. I don't understand it fully, not being much of a philosopher myself, but I do know that money is certainly the root of a lot of people's problems.

Me, I've never much cared for problems. My whole life is spent avoiding them, and my worst fear is that one might be waiting for me around the corner, which I suppose is a problem in itself. If I ever do have problems, it's problems caused by- wait for it- money. The Bohemians had it wrong, you see. Money may be the root of most problems in the world, but we Rouge girls know where true evil lies, and evil flourishes even amongst the enlightened writers and artists.

Evil exists when Nini raises a bottle to her lips to forget that she is still living. It exists when Garden Girl leaves her room encrusted with glass and burning with liquor. Evil exists when Arabia and China Doll challenge each other to inebriated dance offs, ending with one of them crumpled on the floor holding a swollen ankle as her imagined wings refused her flight. Evil is green and comes in fairy shape.

Are you shocked? You shouldn't be. After all, how many of us girls have left our rooms bearing the wounds caused by the bottles that hold that darned liquid? Too many of us, that's what. Not that we're immune to it, either- many of us have the stuff permanently staining our lips. Mome Fromage shamelessly admits an addiction to the drink, Liberty steals the glasses from men when they're not looking, Nini is so drunk all the time that it's hard to tell when she's sober, and even romantic Harlequin ends the night with a sip. Evil is a fulfiller of dreams as much as money is, whatever that dream may be.

Evil is present at today's break within rehearsal, though she hasn't shown her face yet. At the moment every one is merely tired, swapping the occasional anecdote until Harold calls us back into line. The bottles sit waiting around the hall, but they are ignored, for now. Even so, I can swear I see the Green Fairy's face, smirking through the glass.

I like the times like this, when everything is quiet and there's no one forcing me to give myself to them. Not that I'm ashamed of myself, mind you, it's only a job after all. But still, this makes such a nice change. Babydoll thinks I'm not cut out for our 'profession' and I tell her to stick her thoughts somewhere painful. Actually, that's the most we speak to one another at all. Right now Babydoll is reclining on a chair, her tumbling curls (as authentic as her innocence) teasing the shoulder of the stagehand behind her. As always I have to wonder how much of her behaviour is simply an act. That's the catch about us Rouge girls: you can never tell when we're acting and when we're not.

Juno sits on the edge of the Four Whores' table, swinging her legs and singing a song in her shaky yet sweet soprano. She is not the most gifted singer in the Moulin Rouge just as she is not the most gifted dancer, but her voice is strong enough to echo throughout the dusty dance hall and quieten others to listen. The song she sings is a simple one, sung by many out on the streets of Monmartre and in the smoky bars. It is a song of a better life, about _/'amour_ and _"la vie en rose", _though none of us know what this truly means.

From within the depths of the thick bottle glass the Green Fairy winks at me, and I know that these brief moments of peace will soon come to an end.

Juno's voice rises with her self-confidence as more and more people turn to listen to her. She takes centre stage so rarely that she pales a little beneath her make up, but like most Rouge girls she craves attention, as rarely as it comes. The Green Fairy glitters behind her captive glass as the words of some long forgotten poet shimmer throughout the Moulin Rouge. _Quand il me prend dans ses bras, il me parle tout bas, je vois la vie en rose…_

Juno reaches an instrumental section that she fills with decorative nonsense words, and slowly, grudgingly the assembled dancers and stagehands join in, some carol loudly, their hands held to their chests in mock emotion, others sing along quietly, their eyes gazing at some distant dream known only to them. Even cynics like Nini, Travesty and Pearly Queen hum the tune under their breaths, so softly that only their ears can hear them, but humming all the same.

Juno, enthused, throws her heart and soul into the final lines, leaning back as her voice echoes from the rafters. _C'est lui pour moi. Lui pour toi, dans la vie. Il me l'a dit, l'a jure pour la vie…_

Juno thrusts her head back and tears out the final note, holding it for as long as possible as if in doing so she can rid herself of her shattered soul. That's another thing about our line of business; it won't do to have a soul, even the remnants of one. And Juno, well… She slumps forward now, her breath spent, her hands clutching her sides. Her laboured breathing is the one sound in the few moments of silence that follow her song, and those moments are savoured by everyone including me, as they are a rarity.

But as the Bohemians also say, all things must come to an end, and the Green Fairy has been neglected too long. Within a few minutes the world is stained a deep shade of emerald as Arabia and China Doll whirl through the mist, challenging one another to one of their endless dance offs as the others laugh and clap.

Juno flops down beside me, forgotten now that the more talented ones have taken to the dance floor. She is so alone, robbed of everything she craves.

I gaze into her stained, painted face as the Green Fairy's giggles penetrate the brains of those around us, and I know that this is life's true devilry.

_Hmm, not quite as effective as Armoury… I apologise if Schoolgirl sounds a little too educated. Her personality is very difficult to pinpoint, and I'm not quite sure that I did it justice._


End file.
